


Neon Tetra

by WhiskeySoda



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Catfish AU, Fake Relationship, Long Distance Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Angst, Morosexual Slice of Life, Not Actually Unrequited Love, On Hiatus, Oral Sex, Roommates Changbin and Minho, Secrets & Coming Clean, Skype Sex, The Morosexual Agenda, pov switching, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-05-30 14:57:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15099146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiskeySoda/pseuds/WhiskeySoda
Summary: “Ok, don’t be mad.” Minho refuses to make eye contact with him, which means he's probably gonna be pissed. “But I’m kind of, sort of, using your pictures to catfish a guy.”That's what they are, catfish with big mouths and no brains. But Felix? Felix is a Neon Tetra, bright and unassuming.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I've experimented with comment moderation a lot. Comments are at present moderated. Negative comments made by registered users will be posted and reported for harassment to AO3, as comments telling authors to delete their work may count as harassment under AO3 TOS. 
> 
> Hugs and Kisses <3

_Heyyyyyy._ – 13:02

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Changbin reaches for his phone and in a haze inputs his passcode.

Before he can begin to type out a response, Minho texts again. _“Changbin…”_ And then a third, “ _Hey.”_ –13:03

“Minho you bastard.” Changbin says through gritted teeth. His roommate _knows_ that he has an eight AM class, and he _knows_ that he’s got a 3 PM class, and a night shift leaving him just enough time to take a nap so he doesn’t feel like death in-between.

“Sorry,” Changbin can hear Minho’s muffled response from between the thin wall that they share. “But this is really important.”

“You’re at home? I’m gonna fucking kill you.” Changbin pounds on the wall a few times for good measure stopping only when he’s knocked a few paint chips loose from the ceiling. Changbin pulls on a pair of briefs extracted from the crevice where mattress meets wall and stomps into Minho’s room. “Yeah?”

Minho spins around in his chair, and Changbin can already feel the familiar “ _oh fuck_ , _I’m fucked”_ feeling that Minho seems to induce in him.  

Mischievous eyes travel up and down Changbin’s body. Minho’s words tumble out of his mouth before he can think about what it is that he’s saying. “Okay, I need you in this.” Minho tosses a shirt at him. “And then maybe…” Minho rises from his desk and bumps the counter, knocking a container of sour gummi worms to the floor and revealing a pair of 30,000 won a pop Calvin Klein boxer briefs. 

Changbin knows just how much they cost because he bought them at the mall. For himself.

“Minho,” Changbin doesn’t finish the statement. Just grabs Minho’s nipple as he walks past and twists.

“Stop!” Minho swats at him and tries to kick him in the shin.

Changbin dodges and goes low, tickling Minho in the gut. The scuffle dies quickly when Minho pulls away and throws himself into his large, disorganized closet. A rainbow of fabric rains onto the carpet from the closet, until Minho finally emerges with a v neck shirt and slim fit jeans. “Put these on.”

“What is this about Minho?” The fabric is soft against his fingertips, as is Minho’s smile when he passes the clothing off to Changbin.

He’s not just fucked. He’s super fucked. 

“Ok, don’t be mad.” Minho’s already moved onto the clear plastic box he keeps on his dresser. It’s filled with tangled necklaces and knock off designer watches. He’s rifling through the items, stacking rings on his fingers and laying out necklaces. “But I’m kind of, sort of, using your pictures to catfish a guy.”

* * *

“This is really stupid,” Changbin catches himself in the mirror, backpedals, and untucks his shirt from his jeans.

“Hear me out.” Minho catches him by the shoulder. “This guy is loaded. He’s one of the members of the streetwear Discord I’m on and he’s always doing giveaways for fit pictures.”

Changbin can feel his eyes glaze over as he examines the cobwebs in the corner of Minho’s room.

“But here’s the thing. He _says_ the winner is random? But I got him figured out, which is good because he’s just giving away a Summer 14 mesh pocket hoodie because he _has_ an extra.”

Changbin’s face is going numb. It’s so fucking stupid. He’s missing sleep for this. He didn’t pinch Minho’s nipple until it fell off. _For this._

“He always gives stuff away to dudes that are ripped. It’s totally rigged and—”

“No, dumbass,” Changbin sighs. He peels the shirt away from his chest and goes for Minho’s dresser. He knows for a fact he’s got way sluttier stuff stashed in the top drawer. Not to mention, he’s got to see what other pairs of _his_ underwear he has stashed in his dresser. “I’m doing this.” He quickly adds, “not for you,” when Minho’s face lights up. “I do you this favor, you’re paying the entire internet bill this month. And you’re giving me back those underwear. And you need to know--” Changbin finds what he’s looking for, a cut out black tank that’s going to be way too tight on him because Minho is so lean. “Just how stupid you are. If he likes muscles let’s show more skin.”

* * *

 

“Hey, asshole.” Changbin throws his backpack onto the floor, sticks his finger in his mouth, and pulls it out with a pop.

Minho’s got his headset on, controller in his hand, eyes glued to the screen. Mouth agape, he pulls the headset off without so much as looking in Changbin’s direction. That’s when Changbin strikes, plunging his finger into Minho’s ear.

Minho swats and Changbin dodges, and the whole thing yanks out the cord from Minho’s headphones. “Give me twenty dollars.”

Minho rises from the chair and reaches into the stupidly large mesh pocket sewn into the hoodie delivered via DHL from Australia last Thursday. Changbin doesn’t care if it’s a retired season. He doesn’t care if it’s Supreme. He doesn’t care that photos of him flexing out back on the stoop are what got Minho the hoodie. It’s dumb as fuck.

But the pockets contain good good things, and so he’ll save the comments for later.  Minho extracts his phone from the pocket, taps the screen and taps the screen a few times. “Good night at the club then huh?” Minho’s face twists into the shit eating grin that haunts Changbin in his goddamn dreams. “You know when you do a show you’re supposed to make money, not lose money.”

“Listen, he was working. He said he’d do shots with me then I had to tip him. Then—"

“Just get it in next time, God.”

Changbin’s phone rings with the _cha-ching_ of the Venmo app.

Then, fear prickles at the back of his neck. That was way too easy. Minho didn’t try to persuade him to join his pyramid cosmetic selling scheme, or his pyramid supplement selling scheme, or his panty selling scheme or his— “Minho?”

“Yes?” He responds, not taking his eyes off of his phone screen.

“What’s the catch?”

“You have a Skype date tomorrow Changbin.”

“Are you serious?”

* * *

Minho’s bed smells like their bottom shelf detergent powder and the nasty ass Pina colada flavored lube Minho ham-handedly spills all over his sheets when he comes home drunk and horny. There’s a mold stain on the ceiling. They should call the landlord about that or something.

Minho’s voice rattles on fact after fact about this dude that he’s catfishing. The low constant thrum of his voice would be pleasant, if Minho didn’t just ratchet up the implausibility and the stupidity of the whole thing with each breath.

“Okay, so first of all, you’re Minho.”

“You use a picture of me, but use _your_ name? Okay.” Which means he’s going to have to respond to Minho’s name like it’s his own.

“His name is Felix. He’s from Australia. He’s a first-year student at…Koala University or something.”

The whole thing makes Changbin’s head hurt. In closing his eyes and rubbing his temples, Changbin finds very little relief. The fear that whatever has infected Minho is contagious, and the risk of catching the stupid, runs high. “I don’t know English.”

“Okay, let me tell you, he doesn’t know Korean. At all. I swear to god everything he says to me is filtered through Google Translate. Which is completely fine because everything I say to him is filtered through translate too.”

“Then how can you flirt with this guy!?” Changbin sits up with a start. Blood rushes from his head, and makes bright white floaters appear in his vision. “Minho if you sent him my confidential nudes I swear to god—”

“He says,” Changbin can feel the bed dip against Minho’s weight. Minho straddles him all but sitting on his chest and towers over his field of vision. He wiggles his eyebrows at Changbin in the kind of way that makes him want to punch his best friend in the face. “He _just_ wants to practice his Korean.”

* * *

 “Nice sweater!” Felix’s smile beams so wide that it encroaches on the rest of his facial features. He waves at him eagerly, like a friend that hasn’t seen him in a long time. It’s familiar, like they know each other.

Felix thinks that they do.

The sleeves of the hoodie are too long on his arms, which he actually likes. It smells like Minho, oatmeal lotion and hair product, and it’s strangely comforting. Changbin would never say it, but he kind of likes it. The hoodie, the smell, the familiarity between himself and Minho.

“Thanks,” Changbin beams back at him. It feels natural smiling at him, as does pulling his hands up into the sleeves and waving the arm flaps at the camera. “I put something good in the pocket.” Changbin rises, reaches his hand into the pocket, and displays his thumb and index finger pressed together in a heart.

“Wow!”

Fuck. He’s cute. Real cute.

“It’s um,” Changbin clears his throat for no real reason, other than to stall the conversation. When that isn’t enough, he reaches for the trinkets that are cluttered around his desk. First, the Badz-maru stress ball he impulse bought at Dasio. When that isn’t good enough, he goes for the fidget cube he’d found in one of the empty university lecture halls. “Nice to talk to you,” quickly he adds, “for real.”

“Right?” Felix responds. He opens his mouth to speak again, but the words don’t come out.

Changbin can hear the _tap tap_ of the keyboard and he can only assume that he’s looking something up. “It’s been a long time coming.”

His pronunciation is bad, but it’s effective enough to remind Changbin he’s caught in someone else’s lie. “Why do you want?” He speaks in English now, for no reason other than to atone for his guilt, he supposes. The words have the same feel in his mouth as trying to shovel an entire dumpling in at once. “To speak Korean?”

“I want….” Another pause. His voice is deep. Cartoon character deep. Six-foot-tall, beer gut, and five o’clock shadow deep. But the smile through which the voice is delivered is none of those things, and Changbin is relieved in oh so many ways. “To study abroad next fall,” he says finally.

“Where?”

“Seoul Academy.”

“That’s where I go!” Immediately Chagbin regrets the statement. He goes to Seoul Academy for applied music. Minho goes to Hanlim for musical theater.

“Do you know anything about the dance program?”

Like most things in life, Changbin knows just enough to be dangerous. So he tells him everything. There are plenty of stories his friend Hyunjin, and about the introductory hip hop class he took as an elective last spring, and the very best places on campus to get a Frappuccino.

Felix listens to all of it as if he understands every word.

* * *

“So,” Minho’s got his hair wrapped up in a soft, pink band of terry-cloth alongside one of his favorite, well-worn sleep shirts. White cream is smeared across the space between his eyebrows. A half-eaten sandwich sits on the counter, as if he couldn’t be bothered with a plate.

On top of it all, he’s wearing another Changbin’s underwear.  

“Why are you still wearing my underwear?” Changbin doesn’t wait for an answer. “You’ve promised it to some pervert on the internet.”  Judgement, no flat-out jealousy tinges his voice because it’s one of Minho’s most lucrative schemes.

“For a hundred thousand won!”

Changbin goes towards the refrigerator, desperate to find something he can make to eat with what’s on hand. The door opens with a sticky _creak,_ and it doesn’t look good. They have hot sauce, some leftover takeout that’s probably hairier than Minho’s unibrow, some leftover rice.

_Ding ding ding._

“I feel guilty,” Changbin says without even removing his head from the refrigerator. He finds some yellow cheese slices in the vegetable crisper buried underneath the wilting greens they’d bought a few days ago. They _totally_ were going to get back on their green smoothie pre-workout routine. They totally were.

Except, the leaves look wet and slimy, and smell no better than they look. Maybe next week.

He can hear Minho’s voice, muffled when he’s got his head stuck in the fridge. “So, don’t talk to him anymore. I’ll ghost him.”

“I mean,” Changbin rests the saran wrapped rice cooker pot on the counter. He unwraps the singles, and thinks about it. Really thinks about it. What Minho does may seem callous, or cruel, but it’s not like he’s asking anyone for their last dime. Usually the people he does this to…Well, they’re expecting reciprocity, not necessarily decency.

Maybe it’s different with this guy, Felix. Maybe it isn’t. Maybe it was Changbin that got Minho into whole _selling Cutco knives_ scene, which very quickly fed into the selling supplements scene, which quickly gave way into a thousand and one other side hustles for Minho.

Not to mention Changbin isn’t innocent, or particularly deserving of this current instance of pearl clutching. He needed rent money one month, and passed off a very convincing pair of fake Gucci aces as real. He’s definitely agreed to dates before for the sake of free dinner. The difference here is that _this_ specifically, feels wrong.

“Uh, Changbin—”

Changbin can feel wax paper between his fingers. He looks down into the garbage can to find two slices of cheese in the garbage. In his hand, the wax paper is safe and sound. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

* * *

“So don’t talk to him anymore,” Minho’s advice is real simple. Except he’s still logged into Minho’s sock puppet discord account. It’s easy enough to exchange direct messages throughout the day…Especially when Felix sends so many of them.

“How are you?” And, “what’s your fit?” and “What’s the weather like in Seoul?”

He wouldn’t pay the messages much attention at all, except they’re always so genuine, and it never takes much time at all to respond. So just like that Felix’s, “how are you,” becomes Changbin’s, “I have a whole Saturday off. I’m playing video games until my skin adheres to the sofa.”

Which turns into trading Steam handles, which turns into playing co-op games together well into the night.

And Felix’s “what’s your fit?” Turns into exchanging Snaps, and in time those snaps grow into a streak. Single digits, and then double digits. When they’re not Skyping in bad light over a crappy internet connection, Felix somehow becomes cuter. Photos taken in the better light reveal that his skin is dappled in freckles. Snaps of neon colored tank tops reveal muscular arms and flat stomach, and the undeniable fact that Felix’s figure is deceptive when hidden in oversized tees and crewnecks.

And it’s all harmless fun until he’s blending up a post workout shake. Minho’s sitting at the sofa staring at his laptop with a slackened jaw and glassy eyes, and Changbin guarantees he’s going to be calling the senior in his class that has _helped_ tutored him through his homework before. “I like your hat.”

Fuck.

“It’s new?” Minho prods

“Yep.” Minho knows that he doesn’t have the scratch for a new Adidas snapback right now.

“Changbin,” Minho’s voice slides from a teasing lilt to a syrupy leer.

Changbin throws a banana into the pitcher, and smashes the _puree_ button on the blender drowning out Minho’s voice.

When he switches it off, Minho’s finishing off a monologue that absolutely must be dripping with poignancy and eloquence. After all, that’s the only way a speech on morality can go when it’s delivered by someone whose balls are poking out the side of their boxers and on display, wearing a shirt that’s stained with fish sauce. “If you want that kind of arrangement you’ve got to be the one who puts in the work, and quite frankly I put in that work.”

“Uh-huh,” Changbin takes a long draught straight from the blender pitcher. The sink is full of dirty dishes, and he really doesn’t want to wash them.  “Listen, should I get lost? Your _tutor_ ,” Changbin doesn’t judge, just lets Minho know that he knows. “ _Coming_ over?”

“We’ll see. I text him.”

“At least change your shirt first before he gets here.”

* * *

“What’s wrong man?” Felix is resting his head against his desk, moving his mouse sporadically. His nostrils flare as he speaks, and Changbin does his very best to not think that it’s cute.

“Ah,” Changbin huffs. Looking up at the celling, Changbin spins in his chair and watches dappled textured ceiling spin into smooth off-white. “It’s stupid.” Really stupid. He had a great session at open mic night. He asked the cute bartender to go to the afterhours club.

“Tell me,” Felix insists.

When Changbin doesn’t answer, Felix continues to prod. “I’ll tell you something stupid first.” Felix sits up and readjusts the camera. “I’ve got this really nice Fossil watch my dad got me for my birthday. Earlier today, I went to look at my watch to check the time. I had an iced Americano in my hand.”

“Oh god.” Changbin can already feel his mouth curl into a smile.

“So, I rotate my wrist to look at my watch dump the whole thing onto my new chinos. And get this Minho,” Felix interjects to cut through his laughter.

Changbin tries not to think too hard about Felix calling him by his roommate’s name.

“I wasn’t even wearing the watch.”

When the laughter fades, and Changbin wipes his eyes, Felix looks at him with an expectant grin, because he still wants to know what happened. Like he really, really wants to know.

It shouldn’t be that much of a deal but… “Okay,” he breathes, and it feels so nice to talk. Cause Minho’s hot take was that he was a waste of time anyway, and he’s heard that a dozen times or more. “I went out on a date with this guy tonight. I wanted to for so long,” Changbin confesses.

Felix’s face lights up, and Changbin’s falls “But like. It was awful. We had nothing in common.”

“There’s plenty of other people out there, and you go out all the time.”

His pronunciation is getting much better. Changbin basically understood everything that he said, and didn’t have to ask in half Korean, half English for him to repeat himself.

“I just haven’t like actually _dated_ in a while. You know?”

“You know what they say,” Felix pauses to drain a can of diet coke and shove the empty can out of the frame. “Absence makes the heart grow yonder.”

“Wait what?” Changbin snorts loud and ugly through his nose. Scratch what he said about pronunciation. Felix has absolutely no idea what’s going on when he opens his mouth.

But before he can explain himself, he can hear the rattle of his door handle, a _thunk_ onto the carpet, and Minho muttering under his breath, “fuck.”

A sentiment which Changbin echoes under his own breath, “damnit.”

“Hey, Changbin how dare you eat your own leftovers for dinner? Now what am I gonna eat? Can I borrow your car I need to get a—oh.”

That’s it. It’s all over. Felix is going to drop him like a hot pan. The worst part is, he’s going to have to hide from Minho for a few days how pissy he is about the whole thing. Cause the panic that he feels growing in his chest isn’t about a snap back. It’s more than that. “Drive your car,” he hisses.

“I can’t I’m gonna get McDonalds and I don’t want to be seen in my car.“

“That doesn’t even make sense.” Changbin waves his keys at Minho, and doesn’t miss the opportunity to sock him in the gut as he does.

Then, somehow, in the middle of it all through the hushed voices, the shitty internet, the fact that Felix’s Korean is absolute garbage, a miracle happens. “Ay, is that your roommate?”

“Yeah,” Changbin answers far too quickly “This is Changbin.”

Minho ducks down so that his face is in the shot. “Hi,” and waves at Felix. “I’m Changbin.”

Changbin just rolls with it. He and Minho are both so damn stupid, and they both deserve each other. His hand rests on the base of Minho’s neck, and he rubs the skin there. Feather light touches promise a snap and grab at Minho’s pressure point at a moment’s notice. Lee Minho is a dead man. “Isn’t Changbin the handsomest?”

* * *

It’s been a long day. A really long day. To hell with today really. Changbin came home after a long shift, a shift he wasn’t even scheduled to work initially, only to find that he’d left his keys at work. So, he drove back to work only to find that they were nowhere to be found.

So, he drove back home, texting Minho all the while.

Only to find that Minho would neither respond to his calls, or come to the door.

And he was just, really, really tired. And he really, really couldn’t justify calling a locksmith because he might have already spent this week’s paycheck on a brand-new sampler. Calling the landlord wasn’t an option, because it was after business hours, and they never responded to calls. He and Minho found that out last winter when the heater went out.

So there really _wasn’t_ any choice than to try to break in.

First, Changbin charged at the door with his shoulder. Then he kicked the door. Then, relief and abject horror comingled in his chest and the tip of his tongue as he watched Woojin emerge from the stairwell. Woojin. Their downstairs neighbor.

Meaning he’s wasn’t on _their_ floor at all.

In the present, Changbin wants to die.

“Changbin?” There’s concern in Woojin’s voice, but he seems nonplussed as he drops his groceries near the door and fishes for his keys. “Are you trying to rob me?” Woojin unlocks the door and keeps it open, as if in offering to Changbin. “You’ve been inside. You know I have less furniture than you and Minho.”

“Oh my god,” Changbin does his best to explain his mistake, but can’t find the words for the blush of red that rises to his face. Instead, the rush of embarrassment erases every last coherent thought from his head and makes him somehow stupider.

Changbin goes upstairs to find that the door is unlocked. Minho’s dropping it to A Pink in his (own) underwear.

It’s such a relief when he can sink into the corner of the sofa with a half stale, half empty bag of smart pop. The most effort he can manage at this point is balancing the bowl of popcorn on his chest, tilting it upward, and dipping his tongue into the bowl to catch pieces of popcorn on it and pull it into his mouth. 

Whatever remaining tension that was left dissipates when Minho slithers into a fishnet body stocking, shorts that show most of his ass, and stomps out of the house with a wink and a, “don’t wait up for me.”

But it’s also, kind of, almost a bummer when Minho leaves. The invitation is open of course. He loves a wild drunken night of chaos with Minho like no other. It’s just that decaying on the couch and binging Boys Over Flowers sounds _easier._  

But soon enough, the popcorn runs out. The episodes run together, and he really stops caring. By that point, he’s got Grindr open and he’s mindlessly scrolling and swiping. He’s not getting off the sofa, and he’s sure as hell not having anyone over. But there’s something satisfying about the thrill of the chase. Find someone whose just as bored as him and trade nudes.

As Changbin types a litany of filth to a stranger in Gangnam, making excuses why he can’t make it across town to fuck, he realizes that he can never, ever say anything to Minho again about his scams and his schemes. He’s got them too.

* * *

“ _Online a Friday? Pathetic.”_ – 1:07

Felix’s message has a certain ring of truth to it. Since he’s not at open mic night, he should have his sampler out or be writing lyrics. But he’s not.

Yet, the message makes him smile, and he’s easy to tease. _“You’re literally using the internet to message me right now.”_ –1:09

No sooner than Changbin tabs out, he hears the buzzing sound of a Discord notification. “ _I WAS out_.” –1:09

Then a double message riddled with typos. If Felix’s Korean is bad sober, it’s indecipherable now. Changbin’s best guess is that it reads, “ _my friend, mom friend who never drinks, actually got drunk. After Maccas I put him to bed and now_ …” –1:10

Then a triple message, “ _I want to FUCK.”—1:10_

 _That_ he understands. He responds back with a tentative, “ _ME2.” –1:11_  

Felix said he wanted to fuck, but he didn’t say he wanted him. Buying strange men on the internet stuff, studying dance, gratuitous uses of the heart eyed cat emoji ever since Changbin told him about his failed date…Well it _implied_ that he wasn’t straight, but certainly didn’t confirm it.

Changbin receives a response, in English. Google Translate is choppy, but it’s something like, “I’m going to swim to you.”  Which is quickly followed by a string of filth in broken Korean and English. “Then I’m going suck your cock, and god this is really dirty but I’m gonna kiss you too. On the mouth.”

Changbin’s response is simple, because there’s no way in hell he’s going to try to jerk off and tab over to Google Translate. “Let’s video chat.”

Felix calls before he can even clear the takeout boxes off the coffee table. The noise makes him jump, and knock over a bottle of water. “Damn it!” Changbin pushes all of it out of view from the camera, and runs his hair through his fingers for what good it will do him before hitting the green accept button.

When Felix comes into view, it’s slow, as if the broadband gods were tormenting him. Pixel by pixel, the blue light of the monitor casts light on smooth pale skin and messy white hair. He can’t see _everything_ yet. Felix is leaning forward in his desk chair, but he’s very, very shirtless.

Like he was waiting for Changbin to suggest a video call.

“Hey,” Felix’s voice is always deep, and always husky. Right now? It’s no different, and yet it seems so obscene.

“Hey,” Changbin responds as he adjusts the screen and tries to remove his own shirt at the same time. He throws the shirt over the spilled water, and discreetly tries to stomp on the wet patch on the carpet to sop up the mess. The uncoordinated, disjointed movements probably make him look like the least sexy person on earth, but he doesn’t want Felix to feel weird for being the only one naked.

Real life rules about _that_ still applied, right?

When Changbin focuses on the camera once more, Felix leans back in his chair revealing all of his body. It’s difficult for Changbin to know where to look, and infuriating to know that the camera leaves out so much detail. Felix’s stomach is flat on screen, and probably defined in real life. His nipples are a soft brown shade, and probably piqued. One thing is undeniably apparent. It’s kind of weird, and kind of cool, and makes Changbin’s mouth water.

“I like your foreskin,” Changbin stutters.

Felix conceals a giggle with the palm of his hand, but his case for embarrassment isn’t convincing. He takes himself into his hand and strokes once slowly down the shaft pulling his foreskin down from the head of his half-hard cock. “Thanks.”

“I’ve never been with someone who isn’t cut.”

“I can tell,” and Felix’s voice is deeper now as he laughs in earnest, deep enough to send a shiver down Changbin’s spine. “That’s like, the usual reaction.” Felix punctuates the statement with a smile and bites his lip just cause he really wants Changbin dead. “Show me what you’ve got.”

“I don’t know,” Changbin runs his hand down his chest and rests the tips of his fingers on the band of his sweats. Thank god that the lighting is low and the connection is bad, because it hides most of the stains and all of his shame. “How many drinks have you had. I wouldn’t want to take advantage.”

“C’mon if you’re gonna play hard to get I’ll just get on Chat Roulette or something.”

This time, Felix speaks in English Changbin cannot understand all of it. But, he understands what Chat Roulette is. “No way,” Changbin’s already hard from messing around with guys on Grindr, but he gives himself a few pumps underneath his sweats just for good measure. Then, he pulls his pants down.

“Wow.” 

 One word, three letters, one syllable and that’s all that it takes to pump up Changbin’s ego to dangerously inflated levels. Maybe it’s a night of staring at Grindr nudes. Maybe it’s sheer confidence. Changbin holds his dick in his hand and flexes for Felix like he doesn’t even know the meaning of the word shame.

“You’re ripped.”

“You’ve seen pictures.” Now, Changbin’s in his element. What is sexting, or camming, other than a game? Who can be the most aggressive, the most cocky? Who can _best_ say what they want to get what they want?

“Yeah, but—” While Changbin’s hand remains firm on his cock, Felix pumps his own slowly. Felix is that dangerous mixture of cute and sexy when he interrupts himself as he becomes lost in the drag and the friction. “It’s different.”

“What would you do if you were here right now?”

“I told you,” Felix responds. “I’d suck your cock.”

“You know what I’d do?” Changbin begins to move his own hand now and its way better than jerking off to static nudes, or finding uninspired free clips online. “I’d hand you a towel. Since you said you were gonna swim over.”

“Fuck you.” Felix responds, throwing a middle finger towards the camera but never, never missing a stroke on his cock.

“Nah, but I’d fuck you.”

“Only if it was my turn next.“

It’s absolutely fucking filthy, never mind the fact that Felix has fucked his future tense seven ways into next Thursday. The very idea takes his breath away. Lubed up, fucked out, with someone sitting on his dick, the very idea reminds him of back when he first met—Long nights that seemed to have no end, it they were magical even when they hurt to think about _no_ w.

No, fuck that. He’s with Felix now, even if he isn’t _with_ Felix now. He deserves all of his attention. “Hell yeah,” is uttered in rough, mispronounced English. 

“You’d like that?”

“I like everything.” With a flick of the wrist, and the squeeze of his palm, Changbin slides from hazy into full blown stupid. He’s never kept his mouth shut when he fucks, and usually it’s fine. But _now_ when his partner is an ocean away and he’s sprawled out on the couch? Well it feels just a little bit dumb and whole lot vulnerable. “I bet you’re really tight,” which is acceptable. But he keeps going. “I’d go hella deep,” fuck. That’s not his best…“Fuck you so stupid, you forgot how to read.”

 “God,” Felix breathes and in an instant all the stupid things that Changbin mumbles are rendered insignificant. Felix counters every stupid, dick drunk statement that he makes with his own words that are confusing, embarrassing, and if he filters out the language barrier, just a little bit hot. “Put your fist in my mouth,” and Changbin can only assumes that he means fingers, because the next thing from Felix’s mouth is, “get me ready… _mumble-mumble_ make you lick up ghost babies.”  

Changbin’s saving grace from laughing and killing the whole mood comes when they both reach that place where words become unimportant, and impossible. Felix makes the best sounds when his hand is closed tight around his cock. Low growls are lifted upward into soft breathy moans which melt with the sound of skin against skin.

Changbin isn’t one to make much noise, but each time a low moan slips from the corner of his mouth it illicits another from Felix.

Felix twists, and Felix writhes in his chair, bites his lip in concentration, but never for a minute does his gaze leave Changbin’s body. Changbin _aches_ with how badly he wants to touch him, loom over him, and watch the way his foreskin rolls over the tip of his cock and back down again.

Each movement of Changbin’s own tightly clenched fist dragging him closer, and reminding him just how far away he is from the real thing.

“You gonna cum?”

“Hell yeah,” he breathes. Followed by, “God you’re so fucking hot F-F-Felix,” he stutters over and over again as his cock twitches into his hand.  

“Minho.” For a moment everything stops working. His eyes feel welded shut, and his body feels heavy and boneless. “Minho.” It takes him a minute for him to realize that Felix believes that’s his name. Wants to get his attention. “Minho!”

Changbin’s eyes snap open at just the right moment, as he watches Felix jerk himself to completion. His stomach draws up taught, and his face bunches up tight. Cum shoots across his chest, and his stomach, and Changbin cannot help but wonder if it splatters against his chin or his collar bones too.

“Yeah baby,” but the enthusiasm is drained from Changbin’s voice, and it’s not because he came first. “Cum for me. Just like that.”

It’s haunting, and just a little bit terrifying, the way that Felix comes back to the world slowly. Half lidded eyes open dreamily, and he speaks softly, “Minho, that was so good.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Changbin’s been an open flame all night. Dick out, phone out, and burning blue with heat.

As it just so happens, gasoline tumbles in just after 3 AM. “Did you spend the whole night on PornHub?” Changbin can hear him scrape his keys against the doorframe and knock over the recycling container in the kitchen.

Changbin should’ve gone to bed hours ago. But his skin tingles with the urgency of a problem that has no name. Nervous energy makes him rifle through Minho’s things and slap on a face mask. Nervous energy makes him decide to floss for the first time in god knows how long. So when he’s bent over the sink, gums bleeding, fingers strangled and purple, plaque flying onto the sink, Minho crashes into the door frame and strikes a pose. “Do you have one more left in you Changbin? Or are you cummin’ dry?”

It’s the worst possible idea. Fire and gasoline doesn’t even begin to describe their volatile nature. They figured that out the first time during Minho’s first year of university. Minho sold candy flavored shots in little plastic tubes. Changbin was just trying to make it through open mic night without forgetting how words worked. They collided in the filthy men’s bathroom. They crashed and burned spectacularly, but they made for okay friends.

They figured it out the second-time last year when Minho’s roommate dropped out halfway through spring semester. Changbin moved into the studio basement apartment that Minho was paying through the nose for. It took two days for them to start fucking again, two weeks for them to push the twin beds that devoured the living space together, and two months to fall apart all over again.

But they’re stupid, so fucking stupid. So, they’re together now as friends, and it’s the worst possible idea. Thirteen whole months since the last incident, things are going well with him and his very best friend.

But Minho’s got a rip in his fishnets. His eyeliner is smeared across his brow bone and there’s glitter all over. The problem that he can’t name? Whether it’s the fact that he’s attracted to Felix, or the fact that Felix is attracted to him too based on a lie…The problem that he can’t name, well he can identify the source. It’s Minho.

“Just one?” Changbin does his best to covertly toss the dental floss, and swipe his tongue across his teeth. “Minho, I’m gonna fuck you until the sun comes up.” Minho’s body is limp like a rag doll over his shoulder, but he feels feather light in Changbin’s arms. Minho grabs his ass through his sweats, and pinches, not in a way that is playful, but _hard._

Changbin retaliates, splaying his hand wide over Minho’s denim clad ass and smacking him with a satisfying _crack._

Minho’s room is closer, so Changbin goes there. He has this big grand plan to dump Minho on the mattress, rip off those shorts and fishnets, and fuck him into the mattress. He gets as far as tossing Minho onto the bed. Then Minho’s sliding down the bed and sliding off Changbin’s sweats.

Minho comes in like a typhoon, knocking down everything in his path. Changbin would like to believe that he’s ready for it now. But there’s absolutely nothing that can prepare him for Minho taking him into his mouth at once, hollowing his cheeks around him, and working his cock until he’s hard.

Nothing can prepare him, but it’s so easy to become complacent to it. It’s so easy to thread his fingers through Minho’s hair, and trace the angular line of his jaw with his thumb. Addictive, the way that Chabgbin rolls his hips, and can catch Minho’s devilish grin when he holds him down.

Just when he’s about to cum, Minho pulls off with a syrupy smile and a dangerous lilt to his voice. “Were you gonna pop Changbin?”

It pisses him off. “Get up here.” All of this is Minho’s fault.

The button flies off of Minho’s cutoffs when he jams his hand down the waistband. Fishnets rip underneath the tips of his fingers.

“Stop fucking up my clothes,” Minho complains.

Of course, Minho says this as he bucks up into Changbin’s touch. He squeals with glee when Chagngbin gets a tear going in Minho’s shirt and it goes the way of his fishnets and shorts. “You like it.”

Changbin fumbles for the stupid Pina Colada scented lube while Minho _latches_ onto his neck and his earlobes. He can feel the skin bruise but he just doesn’t care. When their mouths crash together in a mash of teeth and tongue, there’s too much spit in Minho’s mouth, and Chanbgin’s too angry to really think about kissing him properly. Minho _tastes_ like booze, grapefruit soju that Minho says makes him feel like he can do _anything._ If you’re uninhibited, what’s left for grapefruit soju to uncover?

Plastic sugar scented lubricant fills the room. He has to disentangle himself to find a condom, and Minho attaches himself to him as he fumbles. “Changbin, fuck me.”

“I’m gonna, Minho! Goddamnit!”

Icy cold toes dig into the muscle of his calves and pinch.

What’s left for grapefruit soju to uncover?

Changbin sees it in the way that his parted lips give way to a smile. Changbin sees it in the way that his long lean legs wrap around his waist and pull him in closer, making a quick fuck born out of mutual frustration something far more intimate.

Minho just wants to be loved, and Changbin? Changbin used to chase that expression across the Han river. Now? He doesn’t want to see.

So, it’s easier to grab Minho by the hips, flip him over, pulls his ass high in the air, and dial down the intimacy while ratcheting up the intensity.

Changbin pushes inside of him with little preamble or finesse. Fucking Minho has always been good. His body is a sinful mixture of flexible and malleable, but it takes more than just a lot of lube and Changbin’s charm.

Minho reminds him of this with a growl, “Seo, I didn’t spend all that time training you for negligent behavior like this,” pulled through his teeth.

Minho’s got him there. Changbin fucks into him roughly, allowing every strand of frustration to manifest into aggression and wind Minho up tight. “But, you love it.”  He’s so damn responsive to every touch. Minho arches his back, and moans every time Changbin’s cock so much as twitches. With each roll of his body he reminds Changbin that he wanted this from him when he bounded out the door earlier in the evening.

When fire meets gasoline, it’s easy to get caught up in the inferno. Changbin becomes lost in the slapping sound of skin against skin and the way that their rough voices meld together and becomes mesmerized by the image of his own fingers pressing and bruising Minho’s firm flawless ass cheeks.

And just when the fire swells to its hottest, it burns out too soon.

“Don’t you fucking dare. Changbin, I swear to god.”

“I can’t-Minho-“

“No, you don’t,” and then Minho’s pushing up against him frantically, only hastening the inevitable. But Changbin doesn’t have a death wish. He bites his lip hard and looks upward at the growing mold patch on the celling. He thinks about the freakish scene he found in the fridge that morning, and the essay he has to do. In starving the fire of oxygen, just for a second, Changbin does exactly as Minho tells him to do. By some miracle, he doesn’t cum until Minho’s spilling into his hand.

Because even when the fire is burning out, you can always get branded by hot coals in ash.

* * *

They’re not cuddlers. At all. Minho’s body runs hot, so he rolls onto the cool side of the sheets right away. Changbin? Well it’s just not his style. So, they lie next to each other on the bed, not quite touching, and not quite separate. Minho’s long fingertips lazily trace down his chest, but Changbin dare not call it intimate.

What’s an appropriate amount of time before leaving?

Does Minho want him to go? Or…Or would he rather him stay?

“You don’t usually give in so easily,” Minho notes dryly.

That’s right. Thirteen months since last incident. “You don’t normally strike out,” Changbin throws right back in response. In the silence, Changbin has time to think about everything he’s done in the last twenty-four hours, from Felix, to Minho, to the impulse buy he made at the music store earlier. “I fucked up.”

Minho turns over on his side to the sound of the mattress creaking in protest. His bangs fall into his face. For a moment his drunk smile and fucked out expression look serene. Makes him look like he wants to kiss Changbin. Instead, Changbin is met with acerbic laughter, lacking warmth, but not bite. “Me too.”

* * *

Changbin wakes up face down in a lilac colored duvet at noon on Saturday. Changbin’s crotch feels sticky, like he fell asleep without cleaning up appropriately.  His neck feels bruised, like someone latched on with their teeth and held on for dear life. Changbin rolls over to find a ruined pair of fishnets and jean shorts crumpled on the floor. He didn’t need to see _any_ of it to be reminded that he and Minho fucked.

The air smells like Minho: sweat, and pina colada, and detergent. This was the first decent night’s rest he’s gotten in months and he’d bet money it’s _not_ because he fucked something stupid out of his system.

Minho’s bed is wider, his sheets are softer, the sun doesn’t come into his room quite so strong.

But that’s not what makes him feel regret. He and Minho are like typhoon season. Unpleasant but inevitable. What tugs at his gut and makes his stomach turn sour is the single notification that blinks on his phone. He doesn’t need to see the recipient to see who it’s from. He doesn’t need to read the message to know that whatever it contains, Changbin fucked up.

But his period of self-reflection is short lived. From elsewhere in the apartment, metal crashes against tile. China crashes against the floor and all of it is accented by the anguished cry of, “fuck!”

Really though, all Minho had to do was _ask_ and he’d order breakfast.

* * *

“I-uh gotta tell you something.”

“What?” Felix adjusts the camera flashing the salmon colored carpet in his room before reframing his face.

“It’s serious.”

“Oh,” Felix puts down his phone.  “Finally gonna come clean about catfishing me?”

“Right, so what’s been happening is this. My roommate. Minho. I’m not Minho and—wait.”

Felix breaks eye contact. “Wow,” his laughter, usually freely given, sounds dry and pulled through his teeth now. “It is.”

Changbin had it all planned out. Explain Minho’s initial motives, and then a gradual build up to the fact that he really, really likes Felix. Really likes the way that he pops in and out of his life throughout the day. Likes the way that his classmates ask what he’s smiling about when he checks his phone in the middle of group meetings. Then, he planned to beg. Beg for forgiveness and understand that it probably wouldn’t come. “Wait, you knew?”

“The two of you? Not that smart mate.” Anger doesn’t tinge Felix’s voice, just disappointment.

Changbin is quick to find that it doesn’t matter if he’s getting scolded by his mom when he’s eight or getting called out by someone he’s been catfishing on the internet when he’s twenty…It’s somehow much worse than raw anger. “I had my suspicions when your roommate called you by another name.”

“Yeah,” Changbin sighs. “So I’m Changbin.”

“Oh, I know,” Felix continues. “You emailed me from your personal account. That has your name.”

“Oh.”

Felix sighs and looks down at the floor. “Your roommate, _Minho.”_  Felix’s flat expression turns into a slow and begrudging smile. Like he hates doing it, but the _intense_ stupidity has worn him down and made him feel soft. “He still posts on the street wear Discord. Not just pics, but by name. Minho.”

“Oh god.” Changbin can see his face in the small thumbnail in the bottom of the screen. Face tomato red, expression pinched into a grimace, he’s the epitome of foolish in behavior and appearance. “So if you knew, why didn’t you say anything?”

“You’re hot?” Felix supplies quickly. “You’re hot, and it wasn’t like you were asking me to wire you money. Which people have done before.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Felix shrugs. “My parents are rich, so it’s fun to just…” Felix purses his lips together and casts his glance downward. Sheepish and vulnerable, as if a bombshell hadn’t blown up everything they’d had. “Be nice and buy people stuff sometimes.”

“For pics, and—”

“That’s not about the stuff,” and for the first time, something like true anger creeps into Felix’s voice. “I’m spoiled not sleazy. I thought you got that. I hope the other night you didn’t think that I wanted that, in exchange for more stuff. Like I thought you wanted to do it.” In that moment, wound tore open, the truth slips out like blood. “I’d hoped you’d come clean.”

 “I’m sorry,” and Changbin knows that is the absolute, honest to god truth. It doesn’t mean much at all, because nothing good ever begins with a lie.

“Yeah,” Felix runs his fingers through his hair. “I need to go. My friend is picking me up.”

* * *

“This is, and I can say this with a certain level of confidence,” Mino pauses for a moment, and in the pause, there’s only the clack short clipped fingernails against keyboard. “The worst thing you’ve ever written.”

“Uh-huh,” Changbin’s brain is on autopilot. Has been since that afternoon. He let Minho talk him into going down to Tasi Café because he needed to do work, and he needed to do _something_ other than brood.

It’s not going well.

“Like your last two brain cells are trying so hard, and just missing the point.”

It’s a lousy joint to study at really. Sure, bottomless mugs of coffee for two thousand won are enticing. But the whole place is super dark, and whatever light does grace the café comes from the radiating glow of one of the many reproduction neon signs. Bad first year art student paintings line the walls, and are adorned with price tags that are far too ambitious given the level of effort put in. As it stands Changbin sits underneath a still life oil painting of fried shrimp, and a discarded pair of crumpled lace panties. He doesn’t have to be an art student to know that isn’t subversive, and it isn’t interesting.

Next to Minho, just within Changbin’s field of vision, a small freshwater aquarium is nested on a shelf next to old paperbacks, and antique bric-a-brack. Backlit with a black light, the gravel in the tank glows hot pink. A plastic skeleton is half emerged in the stones.

The large black sucker fish latched onto the tank wall stares at them in silent judgement while goldfish float from pebble to pebble on the aquarium floor sucking the rocks clean and spitting them back out. Red and cyan glowing neon tetra dart back and forth with no discernable pattern or destination.

That’s right. If he and Minho are catfish, all mouth and no brain, then Felix is a neon tetra: bright, unassuming, and enthralling.

“Make it better,” Changbin sighs, too tired to fight. “I’ll make a dent in your math homework.”

“I don’t want that.”

Changbin allows his gaze to finally meet Minho’s. It isn’t a no. Far from it. The nature of desired reciprocation has changed. Minho has demands, but this _look_ implies that what he wants is beyond their normal boundaries: a trip to McDonalds, a twenty in the hard 36 hours leading up to payday, or homework.

But what he says is somehow much worse. Long eyelashes caught and shining in blue neon light, his expression looks soft. “I don’t want anything. I’ll just do it for you.”

* * *

“Oh fuck, Chang-bi-in. Fuck!”

Fuck all his melodramatic bullshit. He and Minho are fucking great together.

Minho rides his cock hard, and if Minho keeps this up….Pulling  off of him till he’s almost popped, out and sinking back down _just_ right, he’s gonna absolutely crash and burn. “Minho, you’re so fucking hot.”

But there’s no way in hell Changbin’s gonna pump the brakes. Fuck no. Changbin slams on the accelerator and doesn’t look back, pistoning his hips in perfect time with Minho’s movement. Holds Minho so hard that he’s certain to have bruises across his hips and his ass in the morning.

Minho’s fingers splay wide across his stomach and crawl up his chest, slowly until Minho has a finger hooked into his mouth and a thumb pressed against his lip. Changbin parts his lips and takes the digit in, rolling his tongue across it as if it were Minho’s cock.

He and Minho are great together.

The sound of skin slapping against skin almost drowns out the sound of Minho’s response, and if he went by the smirk alone he’d miss it. But he catches the flush across his cheeks and the mischief in his eyes that speaks volumes, more so than the words that roll off his kiss bruised lips, “you’re damn right I am.”  

* * *

“Damn Changbin.” Minho’s body runs hot, but he clings to Changbin like a wet t-shirt.

“Minho, you brat,” but there’s no venom in his voice just a drunk purr into Minho’s shoulder. He’s not a cuddler, but his face is buried in the crook of Minho’s neck. Their hands are still laced together. He’d bet money on the amount of time it would take to get hard again. Give him five, and he’s ready to go.

“You must’ve really fucked up.”

“Huh?” Just like that, Minho’s body doesn’t feel so warm. Doesn’t seem so inviting. He wants to leave but it’s _his_ room.

“You’re still letting me fuck you. When things get better, you push me away. So they’re still not better, right?”

“It’s not about better or worse. We fall apart,” and he can feel it coming even now. Spurred on by his callous response, how could they not?

Minho rises from his side, stretches his body, long and lean, across his body to reach for the bottle of water on the bedside table. Changbin watches as his lips latch onto the bottle and pull liquid out in a long continuous draught. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down his throat, and he’s reminded that this is when he wants Minho the most. When he’s pissing him off by doing nothing more than telling him the truth. “This is about your Australian boyfriend?”

God only knows what Minho knows, and it’s difficult to care when it’s all over. 

“You should just,” Minho stretches over him again, arching his back to replace the water bottle at the nightstand. Then, he lies back down next to Changbin, pressing his body so close that he can feel hot puffs of Minho’s breath against his skin. There is absolutely no escape from Minho’s expectant brown gaze. “Ask him to start fresh. Completely over.”

He wants to tell Minho that it’s easy for him to say when he orchestrated the whole damn thing.  Minho didn’t make him keep up the lie. Didn’t make his heart race every time he heard Felix’s voice. “I don’t think it’s that simple.”

Minho’s eyelashes are criminally long. They lace and unlace from one another as he blinks, and it’s terrifying, frightening really, the way that he blinks at him and draws his mouth tighter, like he’s thinking about something. “It is if he wants it to be. You won’t know if you don’t ask.”

* * *

Changbin isn’t used to Minho being profound. At all. This is the guy that once told him that if he oxygenated his organs, he’d live longer.

And then Changbin spent twenty minutes trying to explain to Minho that that was just breathing.

Yet his comment won’t leave his mind, “ask to start fresh.”

It’s just past midnight on a Wednesday when Changbin finally, _finally_ opens his Discord app again. Woojin’s dragged them out to karaoke. It’s not fun anymore when they’re basically with a professional and liquor has all but taken away his ability to sing much of _anything._  

There are new notifications in his direct messages. Each and every one is from Felix, of course. Changbin drains the rest of his beer and opens them to the sound of Minho wailing the lyrics to ‘ _I Got A Boy”._

To say that he expected something mean isn’t exactly true. Felix doesn’t seem to possess a mean bone in his body. But there’s nothing, _nothing_ in the world that prepared him for the missed messages. Not a handful like he expected, but _days_ worth of exchange between Felix, and…. _Minho_.

Forget the stale Cass on tap, the chat log makes his stomach feel sour.

After all. This _was_ Minho’s sock puppet account.

“ _Listen, he’s never done anything like this at all. Ever. I got him into this.”_

And “ _He seems to like you. A lot.”_

And “ _He’s really nice. One of the nicest people I know.”_

Felix’s responses are infrequent, but not cold. Just honest, and open in a way that some people never achieve in their whole lives. _“At first it was funny. Then I started liking him. Then it wasn’t funny anymore.”_

Minho’s words cut deep in the way that only someone who knows him better than anyone else can. “ _If you could give him another chance, you should. I know you don’t really have a reason to do it. You’re an ocean away, and if you come here there’s lots of people to make friends with other than him. But if you can, you should. He’s probably not going to ask for it.”_

_“Too proud?”_

Minho is nothing but honest. _“Something like that.”_

Felix didn’t respond to this message from Minho for a full two days. _“Why are you doing this for him?”_

Changbin scrolls down to the very bottom of the chatlog. Minho’s final response, was sent just yesterday. Only yesterday, he clung to Minho’s body while Minho told him to ask for a second chance. Of course, his temples ache and his chest feels tight. He can’t blame it on the thick second hand smoke in the bar, or the fact that Minho _loves_ to purposefully miss high notes, just to set Woojin off.

He’s spent a lot of time pining over someone he’s not even met. He’s spent a lot of time falling in and out of love with someone who is right here. They’d be perfect for each other, if they didn’t have the sneaking suspicion they were awful for each other. “ _Changbin is my best friend. We’re kind of similar. We’re kind of opposites. Sometimes I think about what I’d want, and what I’d be too afraid to ask for. I’d want a second chance.”_

Changbin looks to the stage across the bar. Minho’s song is over, but he hasn’t relinquished the microphone. It’s led Woojin to grab Minho’s wrist and hold it to his mouth. Minho pulls back, and they both yell into the microphone, the lyrics to the song cutting in and out as they bicker.

Changbin types and deletes, types and deletes a single, simple message. When he finally sends, “ _Felix, it’s Changbin_ ,” his first instinct is to pitch his phone across the room.

When he sees the words crawl across the bottom of the DM window , “٩( ᐛ )و _Felix_ ٩( ᐛ )و _is typing_ ,” it’s impossible for him to look away, even when Minho and Woojin yell at him to come join them on stage.

* * *

“Hey,” Changbin can’t think of a lamer way to open almost two weeks of radio silence, but that’s how it goes. He had to wait all day for Felix to be done with class, and then wait for Minho’s night class to end….Because Felix wanted to talk to them both.

It’s the least that they can do for him given the way that they met. But, there’s a greedy, irrational part of his brain that points out the fact that whatever attraction Felix ~~has had~~ …Whatever was there was instigated by Minho first. Worse still, it goes both ways. There’s the possessive, destructive part of his brain that still thinks he has some kind of claim on Minho’s body. He chased off Minho’s “math tutor” weeks ago. Scarier still, is that this time it might be justified. He’s spent the past days crawling into Minho’s bed, save for the few nights where Minho’s already passed out in his room. When that happens, Changbin simply crawls into bed beside him.  

Minho leans into his face and too close to the camera, edging Changbin out of the frame until the thumbnail at the bottom of the screen shows only Minho’s flared nostrils and his wide-open eyes. “Hi Felix!”  Like they’re friends.

“Hey Minho,” Felix waves at them. Uncertainty pulls at the corners of his smile, and it makes him want to call the whole thing off. “Hey Changbin,” his name spoken in Felix’s baritone voice has always been something he’s wanted to hear. Now that he has it, he wants to hear it spoken over and over again.

Changbin pushes Minho out of the frame. “Hey,” he repeats himself. “How are you?”

“Good,” the pensive expression is drawn from Felix’s face as he flashes a smile wide and genuine. “Really good. I uh,” Felix draws his lower lip between his teeth as he struggles to find the correct words. “My application for study abroad was accepted.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Felix responds. “So, despite everything…” Felix furrows his brow and draws his jaw tight. Changbin recognizes it as the kind of forced anger that’s slapped into place when you’ve decided to move on, but don’t want the other party to grow complacent yet. He and Minho use it on each other all the time.

“It would be super nice if I had someone in a few months…To help me find a place to live, and pick me up from the airport, and you know, show me the city.”

Minho interjects, and Changbin is almost thankful for it. “Changbin knows _all_ the good rap clubs. _I_ know all the good places to dance.”

  “I like both,” Felix laughs.

“You’re still willing to be seen with us?” It’s too good to be true, like the time Budang FM played a snippet from his mixtape at 2:00 AM, but only because a late night disc jockey liked to roast amateurs.  Like the time he got into Seoul Academy, but his dad said he’d have to foot the bill if he was going to study music.

“Remember what I said about you two?” Felix points first at Minho and then at Changbin. Reverse it around for the reflection of the camera and it’s Changbin, and then Minho. “You’re not that smart. Neither am I, I guess.”

He doesn’t have to keep rubbing it in. This morning he got his hand caught in a Pringles can. He’s painfully aware of the level of dysfunction he’s working with each and every day.

“If we meet, neither of you is gonna murder me right?”

“Totally, not,” Minho responds too quickly to sound genuine. It causes Changbin to elbow him in the ribs, and Felix to laugh in response.

“The fact of the matter is, you guys don’t seem mean. Just….not very smart.”

* * *

 

If talking to Felix was _easy_ , talking to Felix with Minho was _frighteningly_ easy. All the jealousy that ran down the nape of his neck and made the hairs on his arms stand on end dissipated. Maybe it was made easier by the sheer volume of ammunition they had on each other.

“Okay so, before he had a car, someone took Changbin's bike while he was at class and somehow threaded it through a street lamp.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah, a bunch of people were standing around after his class laughing at him so he had to wait an extra 30 minutes so they wouldn’t see him.”

“That’s hilarious.”

“Yeah well,” It was easy to whip out story after story for the sake of making Felix laugh.  “Minho loves scented candles. He’s got like four in his room and three in the living room, and two in the bathroom for bath night, and—”

“Oh god,” Felix interrupts. “Did he catch something on fire.”

“Even better. We were moving into this place from the old place.”

“Don’t tell him,” Minho interrupts. “Changbin don’t or I’ll have to tell him about the tonkatsu incident”

Like Minho wasn’t going to tell him anyway.  “They were dusty, and Minho wanted everything absolutely spotless. So, he had this great idea of putting them into the dishwasher."

Honest to god, Felix asks, “why wouldn’t that work?” Like they deserve each other.

“Felix are you serious? They melted? He opened the dishwasher and there were four wicks and the plumbing was clogged.”

“Oh.” Felix responds. “OHHHH.”

After Minho tells him about “the tonkatsu incident,” and the laughter dies down, it goes silent between the three of them. Changbin wants to launch into another story. He wants to push Minho out of the room and ask Felix if they’re cool _like that._ Because it’s one thing to be cool, and it’s another thing to be _cool_. Not to mention, Changbin could really go for another night of broken Korean-monosyllabic English, video chat sex.

Except, Felix sort of takes all of that and smashes it. He takes a long drink from a crimson red can of coke, burps shamelessly into the camera, and then asks, “So, Changbin…Minho. Are you dating? Or just having sex? Or am I just misreading this situation?”

Changbin’s mouth goes dry. They’ve been dancing around it for days now, and if their history is anything to go by, there’s only one way to go from here.  Downward.  He turns to Minho slowly, and sees a matching look of confusion plastered across his best friend’s face.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday Felix. Don't fuckin @ me if ur gonna be a little bitch in comments. thanx 
> 
> Also!!! Mostly in Minho's POV this chapter! Next (and final) chapter will probably be in Felix's pov!

“ _I want him to sweat a little.”_ –16:43

“ _Screw that, I want him to suffer.” –17:02_

“ _You’re not innocent in any of this. Just as bad as he is.”—17:04_

“ _But, I’m cuter.”—17:11_

_“Absolutely not.” –17:11_

Felix asks a complex question, “Are you dating? Or just having sex? Or am I just misreading this situation?” With equally complex answers. When Changbin finally turned in a project that was killing him, Minho got a bucket of fried chicken, and rotted his brain out with Changbin watching girlie dramas. Didn’t even pay request him for the food after. At night, Changbin jetpacks Minho’s back and rubs his morning wood into the crack of his ass. And even when Minho’s groggy as hell he’ll at _least_ let Changbin fuck his thighs before he leaves for his 8 AM class, and if that isn’t love, what is? 

Changbin struggles to respond to the question. Hell bent on having his cake and eating it too, too stupid to realize that they’re not going to make him choose like some kind of afterschool teen girl melodrama, Changbin’s brain breaks.

Clenched jaw, blown wide eyes, Changbin rubs the sweat from his palm onto his pants. The way that his throat bobs, thickly swallowing the tension down…Minho finds it incredibly hot, and not just because he’s managed to make Changbin squirm. When the pressure to not fuck this up completely becomes too strong, Changbin looks to Minho for an answer that he’s just not willing to spoon feed Changbin.

And after seconds of watching him suffer, an eternity in Changbin’s mind, certainly, Minho finally speaks for him. “We’re married,” Minho responds dryly, wrapping his arm around Changbin’s shoulder. “Isn’t that right sweetie?” Then he goes in for a kiss.

“No way,” Changbin rolls his shoulder out of Minho’s grasp. “He’s going to die an old maid.”

“This old maid taught you everything you know about sucking cock,” Minho snaps back.  

“You’re a sympathy fuck who won’t—”

“ _Oh my god, you’re exhausting_ ,” Felix speaks in English, but Minho understands exactly what he’s saying.

It happens when they’re with Woojin, and it happens when they’re with Hyunjin. When he and Changbin are together, for better or for worse, there are tracts of conversation that diverge from the rest. For a moment, it just becomes him and Changbin, bickering over nothing at all, and enjoying every single second of it. 

Felix doesn’t know the half of it. Changbin’s the only person that he knows that’s as stupid and as pretty as he is, but he never gets the chance to say it. It all gets stomped out in the bickering and the teasing, and their tissue paper egos that need constant shielding.  Hell, he’s never really wanted to say it before to Changbin….except maybe until they met Felix.

“I just wanna know if it’s cool if I can fuck both of you when I come or not. Like are you gonna get jealous? Because it’s obvious you’re fucking. And like…you’re both really hot.”

Minho isn’t exactly sure how another round of Skype fucking is exactly going to make Changbin suffer. Which was their agreement. Even if Felix explicitly said that he didn’t want Changbin to suffer, he will when the three of them finally meet. Minho should make him suffer now, and wait for Felix to thank him later.

Minho isn’t exactly sure how another round of Skype fucking is going to make Changbin suffer, but Felix is a goal oriented boy, and he’s really got to appreciate that at least.

_Really, really_ got to appreciate that.

It starts with a playful, “It’s not exactly fair,” Felix has interrupted the latest scuffle.

Minho’s got Changbin in a headlock, and they’ve kicked over the basket of whites that Changbin’s been meaning to fold for weeks now, but just pulled socks from everyday.

Felix continues, despite the fact that Changbin’s elbowing Minho in the gut. “That Changbin’s the only one whose seen everyone’s dick.” Guess he knows how to get their attention.

So, Minho drops his pants, no questions asked, and Felix drops his pants, no questions asked. Changbin? Changbin just sits there in wide eyed wonder for a moment…And then drops his pants.

When Minho looks at the screen? “Wow,” Minho’s a sucker for it. Like, only slept with one guy that was uncut like Felix, but in that moment, it were as if he’d finally figured something out in the grand slut equation that had been missing before. Foreskin was there for a reason. Watching the skin slide over the ridge and back down again made hand jobs really fucking hot and not some kind of chore.

Minho tries to ignore his own image in the thumbnail on the bottom right hand corner of the screen, because he probably looks like a cartoon wolf right now, eyes popping out of his head, heart beating through his chest in ravenous hunger for something that he cannot touch. Instead, he focuses his gaze on the way that Felix pulls his foreskin up over the head, and tugs it back down, lazily jerking himself into hardness.

“Wow yourself,” Felix’s voice low and rumbling sounds like a purr from a very satisfied tiger about to eat them both alive.

Changbin, not content to have the attention turn from him for more than a few seconds, conversationally straps a steak to his chest and waits for further mauling. “Yeah, but mine’s bigger Felix.” Changbin spreads his legs wide on the edge of the bed and starts pumping his cock.

“Not by mu-“ But then Minho’s interrupted, and what Felix says next makes him honest to god fall in love…But just a little bit, because not even foreskin can wave away years of commitment issues.

“Yeah, but like Minho’s got that,” Felix’s face freezes for a moment, nose crinkled, brow furrowed as he tries to remember the correct word. “Boyfriend dick,” is spoken in English, but those are words that Minho knows well.

More bickering. “Well he’ll never let you sit on it.” Right, cause Minho’s never topped anyone in his entire life. Ever. Sure Changbin.

But this time, not content to simply let Changbin and Minho argue, Felix joins in. “Well, I bet he’ll let me suck it.” And then, it quickly turns into, “Will you suck it for me Changbin? Right now?”

He gets it now. Finally fucking gets it. He’s more than a cute smile and a free crewneck. He has the same kind of reckless horny energy that gets him and Changbin into all kinds of trouble. If foreskin can’t mend years of commitment issues, finding someone with the same brand of stupid can. He’ll slap a white dress on now and marry the kid for all he cares. Because damn.

Back and forth in broken Korean and English that Minho can’t understand because he’s laughing so hard. He thinks maybe Changbin says something like, “yeah but you owe me.”

And a response, “I’ll pay you back with interest,” that would make him absolutely cringe if it wasn’t so funny. All he knows is that, even if Felix didn’t wanna make Changbin suffer, he’s doing such a good job of it.

The next thing he knows, Changbin’s pushing him down onto the mattress. They switch to Minho’s tablet so they can prop it up on a pile of books and junkmail on his nightstand. Minho lays diagonally on the bed so that Felix can see. What a time for Minho to grow a shred of shame really….

But he’s got his ass facing the camera.

Changbin kneels at his side with his head buried between Minho’s legs and more than makes up for his embarrassment. Changbin, voice like gravel, and words that have been known to cut like glass, always has such a deceptively generous mouth.

Settling between his legs, Changbin holds Minho’s gaze in place. Does that thing again where, for a moment, it’s just the two of them.  Then, when Minho’s chest feels tight, pierced by Changbin’s stare, he plants a single, whisper of a kiss onto his cock.

The smirk that Changbin gives him, that simple gesture when his downcast, humble eyes flick upward into something deadly and mischievous, is a look that fills him with nothing more than white hot rage. That look is something that he’ll sell his soul for to get from Changbin.

Changbin can’t take him into his mouth completely, but what he _can_ do…Well, he’d never call it a consolation prize, because it’s wonderful in it’s own right.

Changbin parts his lips slowly for Minho, tightening around the tip of his cock and hollowing his cheeks. Flick of the tongue and devilish grin back toward the camera, he pulls off quickly with a pop, only to repeat the action again. And then again. Over and over again warmth and wet is replaced in an instant by cool air.

Changbin’s technique would be infuriating if it didn’t feel so _good._

 “Stop teasing him,” Felix orders over the line, and he’s never been more grateful to someone a continent away.

It’s just a little bit strange and a little bit cute, how this boy with a voice that that’s freakishly deep and deceptively gentle can _actually_ make Changbin listen.

Doing as instructed, Changbin laps down the length of Minho’s cock, and then back up. Taking as much of Minho into his mouth as he can, Changbin wraps his fist around the base of Minho’s cock. Like the way that Changbin finds the beat in a cacophony of notes, for Changbin, finding a rhythm between his fist and his mouth is easy.

And somehow this too becomes a competition _b_ etween them. Changbin has always been _good,_ always taken the time to get him so worked up and needy that pinprick tears well in the corner of his eyes and he’s begging Changbin to fuck him. Now? Now it feels like Changbin is doing everything in his power to absolutely ruin him. He doesn’t just lap at Minho, but gets him filthy wet. Then? He doesn’t just pump Minho’s cock, but twists ever so slightly on the downstroke.

Minho on the other hand…Minho’s always been good. Quiet is never a _good_ thing to be in bed, not to mention he’s never been particularly quiet when Changbin is around. Ever. But knowing that Felix is there, watching, well…His moans sound a little louder. The things that he says, a little bit more coherent. “Changbin’s gonna do this for you as soon as you clear customs.”

The moan that’s torn from Changbin’s throat is absolutely shameless. Vibrates down the length of Minho’s cock and makes him thrust up into Changbin’s mouth.

“He better,” Felix responds. “God, you guys are so hot.”

From the way that they’re positioned, Minho can’t see the screen very well, but he can guess that Chanbgin’s eyes are glued to it. He can hear the way that Felix’s breath hitches, and how they alternate with deep sighs that would sound angry or frustrated in any other context.

“Hey Felix,” Changbin pulls off of Minho’s cock and reaches for something just out of his field of vision. But the _snap_ sound of the lubricant bottle being opened is something deeply engrained into his memory, and he twitches in Pavlovian response. “Watch this.”

Changbin’s efforts are sloppy and disjointed. Drool pools at the corners of his mouth and spills onto Minho’s skin. Laps of his tongue are quick, and uneven. But no sooner than Changbin works a single finger into his hole, and swirls his tongue on the tip, it’s absolutely over for him. He’s spilling into Changbin’s mouth.

Then it’s his turn. “Felix, watch _this._ ” He tugs Changbin forward by the collar of his crewneck, and somehow Changbin just gets it. Opens his mouth and shows Felix his mouth full of cum. Then, their lips are pressed together, and Minho can taste himself on Changbin’s mouth.  Changbin’s so fucking right. They need to start eating more fruit.

“You guys are nasty,” but Minho doesn’t have to be looking at the screen to know that Felix is looking at them with that beautiful combination of amazement and lust, but it’s nice to hear when Felix confirms it, “it’s awesome.”

* * *

“I’m gonna fuck him—ah-“ Changbin interrupts himself. Body tensing up tight when Minho moves his hand _just_ so, he’s not going to last long. “Then he’s going to fuck you. While I’m fucking him.”

“No,” Felix is still slowly jerking his cock, like he’s got all the time in the world. “I’m going to let both of you fuck me. _Use me.”_

Their kidneys, their money, their clothes, the big screen television in the living room, he can load them all up into Chanbgin’s busted ass Honda on the way out. Felix can take everything. In two little words, the tables are turned and he’s got them wrapped around his finger.

“No,” Minho’s hand moves faster now on Changbin’s cock. Of course, he shoots his most authoritative look at the screen hoping that it influences Felix to do the same. ”We’re all gonna make out, and jerk each other off, and finger each other. Like we’re in high school.”  Make Felix push himself past the point of no return, hang there for a moment in addictive agony, and then pop. “And fuck each other until nobody can walk.”

And as if on cue, Changbin growls and cums into Minho’s hand. An ocean away, Felix does the same.

* * *

“Morning Minho. The usual?”

“Yeah, thanks Yejun,” Mino occupies his usual spot at the counter, eyeing the fresh bagels until his iced americano is finished.

The sound of ice tumbling into a plastic cup meets the sound of his music piped in from his earbuds. Standing at the counter, he looks at his phone, and smiles when he sees a notification. It’s the group chat with the three of them. Felix’s message? A simple, “37 days.”

By the time that Minho makes it to class, he’s almost ten minutes late, iced americano half finished. But he hasn’t missed the attendance sheet, and he has a seat saved, right in the back of the classroom near the exit. “Thanks,” he mouths to his friend Minseon, who he hasn’t had a proper conversation with since the end of their first year when they finished their group lit 101 project…But, he appreciates the gesture nonetheless.

Mid-lecture, his phone buzzes against the ink stained desk, earning him an angry glare from the professor. It’s a snapchat, from Felix.

Minho keeps the sound off on the video snap, but he doesn’t need to hear to get the gist. Having risen at the crack of noon, Felix wants help figuring out what to wear for the day. At least today, he’s gotten it narrowed down. His fingers run across no less than ten Commes des Garcons t-shirts. Each heart winks at Minho when Felix runs his fingers across the row: black, pink, red, camouflage.

“Which one did Changbin pick?” He types in chat. That way, he can pick the opposite, and Felix can end up wearing neither.

Slow typing bubbles crawl across the screen. “I didn’t ask Changbin. I ask you for shirts. I ask Changbin for hats and sneakers.”

It sort of, almost, kind of, fills Minho with pride. “Uh the one with the heart on it.”

“Thanks.”

“What’s wrong with you? There’s at least four white ones with the red heart all identical.”

Felix’s response is fast, simple, and far more profound than he’ll ever know. A selfie with the dog filter, it’s captioned, “I like multiples.”  

 Later in the day, Minho’s finally where he belongs, in the dance studio. Hyunjin’s got on some mumble rap with a trap beat, moving his body slowly like viscous honey poured from a jar. “Min-hoo,” Drops on his knees and springs back up again. “You’re late!”

“I’m right on time.” It’s just that he’s always early to the studio. Today, the store that Changbin works at was having a sale, so he busted ass uptown to spend money he didn’t have on crap that he didn’t need between classes. Since Hyunjin’s the first in the studio, it makes him late by default.

They go through warm ups together, stretching each other out, and breaking into disjointed, impromptu movements for a few measures before dropping back into their routine. After awhile… “Hey,” Hyunjin’s gonna tease him so hard for this. “I need you take a video of me doing my routine for the midterm.”

“For your boyfriend?”

“He’s not my…You know what? Yes, for my boyfriend. My rich, Australian boyfriend,” and his face burns when he says it.  

Talking to Felix throughout the day feels nice in a way that he didn’t know was possible.  It’s comfortable, like when he messages Changbin existential skeleton memes in the middle of the day. It’s new and exciting, peeling back all the little details of Felix’s life.

“ _Hold the camera the other way,”_ Felix speaks in English over the tinny sound of music pumped over someone’s underpowered phone speaker. There’s laughter from whoever holds the camera, as Felix drops into an exaggerated, impromptu choreo for _I Like It._

The caption over the video is simple, and Minho’s going to hold him to it. “We’re gonna dance so much together.”

“ _Felix so sexy,”_ and he’s absolutely got to agree with whoever’s holding the phone.

It’s long after dinner time, but Minho’s still in the studio, perfectly happy to eat all of the Cliff bars Hyunjin keeps in his bag in lieu of real food. His muscles burn and his bones ache, but he can’t quite bring himself to clean up the studio and go home.

Laying on his back on the hardwood floor, Minho reaches for his phone.

 “Tell me,” Minho’s probably heard this on the internet. “Because you’re on the other side of the equator, your toilet flushes the other way?”

“How would I even know?” Felix responds. “If I’ve only ever been here?” A double text, “which way does yours go?”

“Why would I know that?”

“Why would I know that?”

It’s only been a few days since they started talking, but Minho spends way, way, way too much time thinking about things like getting ready for his first year recital, and rubbing tiger balm on his muscles when he’s spent too much time in the studio. Strange to think…Minho wanted to ghost him. Strange to think…Minho was about to hand all of this over to Changbin, no questions asked.

Here’s the thing. Minho knows a lot of people. He knows every barista at the café he stops at for americano, and every regular customer and kitchen staff at the hole in the wall bibimbap joint he and Changbin eat dinner at way too often. He knows everyone in his dance classes. They may not all have much in common, but the ability to commiserate over broken toes and blisters made up for that in spades. There’s Woojin, their downstairs neighbor, and like. He’s a friend, but he’s not going to spill his deepest darkest secrets to him. There’s Hyunjin, and sometimes they talk...The fact of the matter is, Minho knows a lot of people. He knows a lot of people, but he can’t say that he has a lot of friends.

There’s like…Changbin, whose seen everything and still sticks around…And a lot of other people on the peripheral.

Sometimes, Minho thinks about what’s going to happen thirtyish days from now when he actually gets here.

It reminds him of all the times he and Changbin have gone out to eat on payday. When they have extra money, they not only stuff themselves but get dessert too. They know they should share, but the mere thought of sharing becomes repulsive. More repulsive than their stretched stomachs and discarded dignity.

Minho hopes they have enough sense when their single slice of cake arrives they ask for two forks.

* * *

The month passes quickly, but the days slide by slowly. By the time Felix is due for arrival it feels like centuries. It feels like seconds.

Minho isn’t a patient person. Not by a long shot. He can’t remember the last time he had a toaster strudel that wasn’t frozen through in the middle, but by now he kind of likes the cold center. But for Changbin, for Changbin, he’ll try his best to be a little bit patient. After all, Changbin’s been so patient with him, even when he didn’t notice.  Through his fishnet phase, and through his paleo phase, and through his ex-pat American boy phase, and his law student phase, and his sugar daddy phase….

Minho isn’t a patient person. As much as he wants Changbin to figure it all out for himself, present it with a nice little bow on top to him and Felix, he’s getting tired of waiting.

 “I’ve been thinking,” Changbin moves his hand from the steering wheel to the gear shifter, and shifts downward, merging into Incheon traffic and towards the baggage claim lane.

“That’s why your face has been screwed up since we left home,” Minho quips.

“Ah, Minho,” his hand moves from the gear shifter to Minho’s thigh.

It’s the kind of move that Minho would melt for, if it weren’t Changbin doing it. He’s been around Changbin long enough that all the times that he tries to be sexy, hand on his leg while driving, flexing at the gym, aren’t so sexy at all. But all the times that he’s not trying to be sexy? When he leaves the door open wide for his morning piss and all Minho can see is wide stance and rippling back muscles? When he slides out of sweatshirts, and Minho can see the hair on his stomach and the v of his crotch when his t-shirt rides too high? Instant boner. Now? Changbin’s made the hair stand up on the back of his neck, and activated his fight or flight.

“We’re doing really well lately. What if…What if we tried being serious again?”

Close. Like one of those carnival games where you throw the basketball and it bounces off of the hoop because it’s purposefully knocked off center. Close, but so far away. Like all the times Minho’s limp wristed the ball before he even took a shot.

“Changbin,” Minho makes his voice extra syrupy and clasps his hand over top of Changbins. Wonders for a moment if this same kind of forced through charm makes Changbin uneasy too. Tries not to think about what little things that he might do that Changbin finds unintentionally sexy. “Baby,” and then he picks Changbin’s hand up off of his knee and places it back onto the gear shift. Yeah, he might take just a little bit of satisfaction at the way that Changbin’s mouth tugs into a frown. “We’re literally on the way to the airport to pick up your house boy.”

“First of all, he’s the opposite of a house boy. He’s gonna pay rent until he can move into his dorm, and second of all he’s basically your house boy too.”

“We’re both going to fuck him tonight. You bought eucalyptus scented candles so he, and I’m quoting you here Changbin, ‘wouldn’t feel homesick.”’ Changbin isn’t being malicious. Just stupid. How hard is it to ask both of them, _together?_ “I want you to know that this is the emotional equivalent of that time I asked you if you wanted anything from the takeaway while you still had the stomach flu.”

* * *

Felix clears customs sweaty, hungry, and very, very confused about what direction the exit is. Suitcase clenched in one hand, he frantically tries to one hand text Changbin and Minho…Except his service is really, really, bad and he needs a new sim card for Korea like yesterday.

_Thunk_.

Honestly?

He’s kind of still sweating bullets from going through customs. Had to throw his suitcase open and then said in the thickest, awfullest accent he could muster, ‘please don’t take my Marmite,” because he’s always been just a little bit more than slightly afraid of authority figures. So of _course_ they opened all of his Marmite, scanned it twice, and upturned the rest of his bag.

_Thunk._

Felix looks up at the wall. Suddenly, all the stress from an international flight, and and getting stopped at customs, drains away completely. 

Pressed up against the glass as if they were insects that collided with a windshield, are Changbin and Minho. Changbin’s got his mouth open wide, and pressed against the glass. Minho’s face is smashed forward like he fell on his side.

Felix could race toward the exit toward baggage claim. Instead, he drops his phone and his suitcase and smashes his face into the glass, forehead connecting first with the glass, he recoils instantly.

When the stars clear from his field of vision, he can see Minho and CHangbin, expressions caught in that painful place between a smile and a grimace, mouth open wide with shock, corners of the lips turned upward.

So he tries again, grabbing his bag and running toward the door.

Peeled away from the glass, he’s encircled by two warm, muscular bodies and the sound of schoolboy giggles echo in his ear. “Felix!”

“Changbin, Minho!” It’s funny how he had hours on the plane to talk himself into it and out of it a dozen or more times. Paced up and down the aisle until the stewardess told him he needed to clear a path for drink service. Drove the businessman sitting next to him crazy by jiggling his leg up and down. And now? Now all of it’s undone with three simple words between them.

“Oh my god.” A thousand and one observations swell in Felix’s mind. Changbin is so short. Minho’s eyes are so wide, and he’s somehow prettier in person than on camera. They both smell like shaving cream and peppermint body wash. When he tries to hug them both at once, they sandwich him in between, and it’s sweet…Until someone’s arm reaches upward, and tickles his armpit. Causing him to elbow Minho in the gut. “Fuck off!” Felix growls when Minho ribs him right back. 

Chanbgin doesn’t say anything, just smirks at him as he picks up his discarded suitcase.

Eventually, Felix stops laughing, but not until his face feels raspberry red. Not until tears well at the corner of his eyes from laughing so hard. Fingers lace into his hand on the right, Minho at his side. With his left, he reaches out towards Changbin. “It’s so good to meet you both.”


End file.
